


A Little Bit Dangerous, but Baby, That's How I Want It

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have to be quiet. We’re in a library," Joonmyun reminds him, nuzzling his bare, soft, soft cheek against the head of Tao’s cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit Dangerous, but Baby, That's How I Want It

**Author's Note:**

> the true otp

“I will—” Tao swears around a shudder, dragging his fingers down Joonmyun’s clothed sides to squeeze hard and entincing on his waist. “I will—I can be quiet. Good. We _shouldn’t_ stop, hyung.” He’s speaking against Joonmyun’s mouth, can feel the sweet hitch of Joonmyun’s breath at his chest, his lips, can feel the tremor of a helpless response in Joonmyun’s fingers around his arms. The grip too tight, the way it always gets when Joonmyun is fighting to say “no” and actually _mean_ it. 

_We should stop_ , Joonmyun had whispered against his neck, all kiss-breathy and strained. _It’s too risky. We should stop_ , he'd warned, but no they shouldn’t. No, Tao wants this. And—

“I can be quiet,” he insists once more, more breathy, more sultry, a heavier attempt at persuasion and provocation. He stumbles forward to press Joonmyun tighter against the bookshelf behind him, thigh wedging between Joonmyun’s spread legs. He’s not hard yet, but Tao can fix that—because they really, _really_ shouldn’t stop. “I can be so, _so_ quiet.” 

Joonmyun’s laugh is disbelieving, strained just slightly—not nearly enough—at the edges, but he skims his nose along the column of Tao’s throat, his hair, breath, soft skin dragging and searing slow and maybe indulgent. And oh, Tao really, really needs him. Like this, right now. 

“Can you? This is library, Tao.” His tone is equal parts chiding and wanting—trying still to will himself into saying “no” and meaning it. He presses a lingering kiss to Tao’s jawline, his fingers dragging over the starched cotton of Tao’s shirt, and Tao exhales in a helpless rush, blinking down at him through his eyelashes. 

Joonmyun’s wearing his glasses, always does whenever they study together—they’re suppposed to be _studying_. And the lenses are fogged, kiss-fogged, his eyes dark and liquid behind them.

Joonmyun had followed him to this abandoned alcove for the explicit purpose of helping Tao find a textbook for his upcoming research paper, but he’d looked too fucking _handsome_ beneath the overhead lights, face pinching in thought as he traced his fingers over the yellowed Dewey Decimal label. And Tao couldn't fucking help himself, just _had_ to pin him bodily to the nearest bookshelf and tangle his hands in his soft hair to kiss him hard and deep and desperate. 

And Tao doesn’t care about that damn textbook, the others they’ve left abandoned on their table along with thier cellphones, laptops. Only cares about the promise in Joonmyun’s eyes, the delicious pressure of his wet, parted lips near Tao’s jawline. 

“I will,” Tao promises. “So, so quiet.”

Coaxing him downwards, Joonmyun kisses him again, softer, sweeter, the kind he usually reserves for sleepy mornings tangled in cool sheets or lazy Saturday nights curled together on the couch for movie marathons, and it’s so achingly _tender_ that Tao almost moans again, too loud again. But he can be quiet. He doesn’t want to stop, and he can be so, so quiet.

Joonmyun smiles, maybe smirks into the kiss when Tao’s fingers scramble up his spine, and Tao does moan, then, shuddering as Joonmyun’s hips jump to drag against Tao’s thigh. 

And Joonmyun’s fighting to say “no” and mean it, wants this just as much, Tao knows, just needs another drawled _hyung_ , sibilant and coaxing, hummed into his mouth to be pushed over. Tao can _taste_ it when Joonmyun relents, feel it in the loosening of muscles beneath his palms, the scrape of teeth along his bottom lip. 

It’s dizzyingly exhilirating, has Tao moaning too loud into Joonmyun’s wet, open mouth, fingers fisting in Joonmyun’s ugly knit sweater to keep him from pulling away. His knee pressing insistently against Joonmyun’s crotch, he grinds forward, drags Joonmyun by the hips to rock forward, too, sets the pace into something heavy and heated as he loses himself in Joonmyun’s perfect mouth.

But he isn’t allowed that control for very long, Joonmyun getting enough leverage to press Tao bodily into the bookshelf, instead, pinning him by the hips, and dragging until Tao is sagging helplessly against him, moaning helplessly into his mouth. 

And oh, Tao likes it when he’s like this. Hard and unrelenting like this. Likes him nerdy and caring and soft, too, the Joonmyun that buys him him color coded tabs, texts him to remind him to eat hearty breakfasts, cradles Tao’s face when they kiss like Tao is precious and everything he could ever hope to want. Likes—loves—that Joonmyun so much that it hurts, but he craves the other one right now. Wants more of the hard, hard Joonmyun that pins him against surfaces, ruins him with his words and his fingers and his mouth and his cock until Tao is sobbing with pleasure and need. 

He can’t now. Has to be quiet. Be good. He’d promised, and they’re in college library—the mostly Chinese Humanities section, but still— 

Has to. Can. Can. Can. 

Joonmyun’s breathing is hot and labored and wet against Tao’s throat, and his dark, gorgeous eyes are sharp and hot and utterly disarming. He’s devastatingly in control, and Tao’s only job, his only worry at the moment is staying quiet and good and pliant and responsive in order to earn more more more. 

Joonmyun tugs him forward by the hips, thumb soothing on his hipbones as he bends Tao to his liking, and Tao trembles, braces himself on the bookshelf, restless, helpless fingers dragging over the spines of the reference books he’s supposed to be perusing, elbows connecting painfully with varnished wood. He squeezes his hands throbbing on the hard plastic of a book end.

“Taozi,” Joonmyun murmurs against his chin. “Quiet,” he reminds him. “Quiet and good.”

And Tao nods shakily, lolls his head back, bares his neck so that Joonmyun will keep kissing it, drag his teeth in that slow, teasing caress that always has Tao’s body quivering with need, his restraint and sanity ripping at the seams. 

But Joonmyun doesn’t. 

Sparing one last, warm, tender kiss to Tao’s chin, Joonmyun instead drops to his khakied knees. 

His fingers drag up Tao’s thighs, hot and heavy even through the denim of Tao’s tight jeans, fingernails biting and grounding, and a dull sort of pain throbs through the awful tight fabric separating skin from skin. 

Wanting, imploring, Tao drags his thumb over Joonmyun’s mouth, and Joonmyun smiles around the skin, lets his lips flutter there in a lazy, soft, soft kiss. His lips part briefly, a fleeting wet promise of slick, perfect heat, and Tao moans. 

Not quiet. Not, not good. 

Tao bites him lip to keep quiet—at least more quiet. 

And Joonmyun's tongue is teasing, but his fingers are hard, sure, closing tight, pinning him hard against the books behind him. Pain, fear, arousal skitter along his goosebumped skin. “Zitao,” Joonmyun whispers against the pad of his thumb, his voice velvety, that sweet, sweet spot between delicious, sharp authority and heartaching fondness.

He arches into Tao's clumsy touch, the pale smooth column of his throat pressing into the heavy flutter of Tao's fingers. And his shoulders are squared, eyes so, so dark, and oh control looks best on him. Oh, Tao feels drunk on his need and want. 

He has to be quiet. Good. Very, very still as Joonmyun continues to kiss his skin, mouthing teasing and soft and utterly maddening over the webbing of Tao’s fingers, inwards to inside of his wrist. He drags his tongue, and Tao's chest hitching sharply with a swallowed moan. 

Joonmyun pauses, pulls back, folds his glasses carefully, setting them on shelf before crawling back between Tao’s trembling thighs. 

“Can’t get come on them again,” Joonmyun breathes, and oh _fuck_ , that somehow makes it more real, more forbidden, more _hot_ — his boyfriend beneath him with his breathing labored and his face flushed and bare, eyes raw and unmasked, his boyfriend falling to his knees like this in public—in the middle of the Chinese Humanities section when they're supposed to be _studying_. 

A monumental tremor overcomes him, and Tao is panting, pleading, needs more, jerks shakily when Joonmyun drags his zipper down, tugs enough only enough to free Tao’s cock, bare his upper thighs. Tao upsets several books, braces himself on Joonmyun’s steady shoulders, and Joonmyun stops, his achingly ruddy lips kiss-ruined but still turned downwards in a frown. 

The dissapointment in his gaze burns hot, squeezes tight in Tao’s gut, zips through his tense, tense body. 

And yes, he has to be quiet. Has to be _good_. Because they don’t have the privacy of a dorm room. Tao isn’t spread open on his tiny mattress or facedown on Joonmyun’s hypoallergenic sheets. This is their first time doing something like this, and Joonmyun will stop if he’s too loud, he knows, will say "no" and mean it. Tao has to remember himself, can't allow this to stop. 

“Joonmyun,” he whispers, maybe begs. “Hyung.” 

And Joonmyun’s lips and cheeks curl in a lazy, self-satisfied smirk at his choked moan. His lips are ruddy and achingly soft and wet against Tao's sensitive skin, tortuous as they graze his hip, his upper thigh, so painfully, painfully close to where Tao needs them most— _needs_ them.

Tao’s fingers twist tight in the material of Joonmyun’s knit sweater, pulling several strings free before Joonmyun disengages, drags Tao’s shaking fists to his head instead. Tao tugs experimentally, and Joonmyun’s whisper of a moan puffs hot and wet against his skin. 

“You have to be quiet. We’re in a library,” Joonmyun reminds him, nuzzling his bare, soft, soft cheek against the head of Tao’s cock. It smears there, precome glittering on pale skin in the soft overhead lights, and Tao swallows, shudders to keep from whimpering. 

And oh, maybe they shouldn’t have. Maybe, maybe Tao _can’t_ —

“Be quiet,” Joonmyun coaxes, his blunt thumbnail dragging over the anchor of Tao’s hipbones, teasing at the exposed skin as Tao struggles not to moan. The touch is stinging and sharp and perfect and grounding, and Tao nods sluggishly. “Good and quiet—for me.”

Joonmyun purses his lips, lets them catch once more as he finally, finally shifts to where Tao is aching and hard and desperate just just just for more. Joonmyun’s small, pink, perfect, perfect mouth drags teasingly, achingly over the engorged head of his cock, and Tao’s knees nearly buckle at the fleeting friction, a reedy moan crawling up his throat before he has a proper chance to stop it. 

Joonmyun thankfully doesn’t stop, just smirks as he disengages. His tongue dances along the slit of Tao’s cock, and Tao’s hands twist restlessly and helplessly and mindlessly in Joonmyun’s hair. Joonmyun blinks up at him through his dark, heavy lashes, moans against his cock, shuddering, vibrating, _hot_. Joonmyun hums his name, swirls his tongue along the underside of his cock, pointed and precise and so perfectly overwhelming. He teases at the tip, presses hard and just just right. Just, just perfect. Tao struggles to stay upright, utterly helpless. 

And Joonmyun sets an exquisitely slow, excruciatingly slick pace, moves as if he’s savoring the drag, the taste, as if he enjoys this as much as Tao does. And it undoes him, _fuck_ , the earnest want in Joonmyun’s lidded eyes, the biting firmness of his fingers around Tao’s waist, the wet, wonderful warmth of his mouth.

Joonmyun lets his lips graze on every retreat, and Tao starts to whimper—not quiet, not good, but he can't fucking help it. His hands tangle tighter, tighter, tighter in Joonmyun's soft, dark hair, gaze locked on his soft, dark eyes. 

And Joonmyun glides forward even slicker, even tighter, even hotter as Tao tugs again and again and again. 

And even vulnerable, deferential, on his knees, his eyelashes heavy, his bruised lips sealed around Tao’s pulsing, aching cock, even then, even like this, Joonmyun is still distressingly in control, dragging Tao closer and closer and closer to the edge with every plush, perfect glide of his pink, pink lips. 

The blood is roaring in Tao’s ears, pleasure electric and hot in his veins, moans aborted and shuddery on his lips. 

It builds and builds and builds until it can't anymore, until the sensations drown him. The pleasure crescendoes in a violent, silent, silent explosion of pleasure and heat. 

Panting, his knees buckling, Tao collapses bonelessly on the carpet, his head crashing back against the shelves, legs kicking out. 

Joonmyun’s panting, too—too loud, too honestly—ruined in that gorgeous way that makes Tao’s entire body bruise and burn with pure _want_ even though orgasm is still singing through his veins. 

Joonmyun drops a lingering kiss to the exposed skin near his hip, and his hair tickles Tao’s skin. Heat surges up Tao’s spine, tingles through his overworked limbs. His softening cock jerks just once, and Joonmyun smiles. 

There are speckles of come on his chin, the curled corner of his mouth, and _fuck_ he’s beautiful. With Tao’s eyes on him, Joonmyun licks his lips luxuriously, drags his thumb through the mess of excess come on the corner of his mouth. 

Tao whimpers. 

Joonmyun’s distressingly handsome like this, disheveled and breathless and marred with pleasure, marred for giving Tao pleasure, and Tao’s heart feels too big, overflowing. He bumbles forward to smooth Joonmyun's wild hair, right his rumpled clothing, reaches around him and then slides his glasses on, too.

Joonmyun’s smile is so terribly fond. His eyes bright behind the lenses. 

A mess of limbs,Tao curls forward to touch him. He drags helplessly tingly fingers over Joonmyun’s chest, feels the heat bleeding through the material, the racing thrum of Joonmyun’s pulse against Tao’s fingers. He slides lower, tilts his head down to kiss him, and Joonmyun moans into his mouth, climbs abruptly into his lap. 

Tao's fingers wrap around his waist, steadying, and Joonmyun presses down automatically, heavy and insistent and _hard_ —from sucking him off. He drags deliberately over Tao’s thigh. 

“Quiet,” Tao murmurs against the corner of his mouth, and Joonmyun laughs, strained and tight. “Let—let me.”

Joonmyun’s more compliant than Tao is used to, melting into him with a soft hum of a moan, and Tao is painfully aware of just how small he is, then. How slight he is, how easily he fits in Tao’s arms, his face buried in the crook of Tao's throat, moans muffled into Tao's skin, fingers tight and demanding around Tao's waist. Tao’s fingers stumble to free Joonmyun’s cock, curling tight as Joonmyun pants into Tao’s throat. Cradling him, Tao strokes him off, fast and sloppy and efficient. 

And he _is_ quiet, a harsh rush of breath his only tell as he jerks in Tao's arms, spills soundlessly into his fist. 

And Tao doesn’t have to be told, curls forward immediately to clean it off, suckling his own fingers, mouthing at the mess on Joonmyun’s bared stomach as Joonmyun laughs again, shaky and shuddery but so painfully fond. 

He pets Tao’s hair back, too, drags his fingers over the shell of his ear, around to the nape of his neck to urge him closer. 

Tao goes so, so easily. 

“The book,” Joonmyun murmurs against his jawline, smiling when Tao trembles. “Should find that book.”

**Author's Note:**

> written for shiritori


End file.
